Antidote to Infidelity (15 page)

Sensing he
’
s about to march back into
Savannah
’
s and sledgehammer
Troy into the middle of next week, I grab his gloved wrist tightly.

“
I
’
m
fine, honest. Just a bit shook up,
”
I assure him,
rubbing his swelling knuckles through the gauze-like cloth.
Seeing him flinch in pain, I
add, “Look, this could be broken. Do you think we should go to A&E? . . .”

I stop mid sentence. We stare
at each other coolly as he
snatches the copper helmet out of my lap, tossing it into the back seat.

Oops. I
’
ll take that as a
no, then.

Gazing into his wild
brown eyes, I
’
m trying to collect
myself but I
’
m struggling. The
costume, the heroics - everything - it
’
s all so
completely
out of character. And the really unsettling thing is, I
like
it.

No, wait -
love
it.

I
’
m
convinced
that if I
turn the radio on, Bonnie Tyler will be blurting out
‘
Holding out for a Hero
’
. He certainly looks the part -
a strapping, streetwise Hercules, every inch the rescuer . . . mmm.

I wonder if this is
how Lois Lane feels when, sick of the mortal sight of Clark, Superman lands on
the veranda? Probably.

Temper wise, Will
’
s
seriously
crossed the
line . . . but he looks so
hot
on it, even with helmet hair. An hour
ago, I wanted to beat him to a pulp with a pitching wedge, now this delicious
new dark side
’
s got my near
non-existent knickers in a twist.

The costume, fair
enough, it
’
s New Year
’
s Eve - but punching Troy? Wow.
I know he was only defending
me
but I’ve never, ever seen Will hit. He
hates
violence.

As I sit in
pondering silence, the heavy black doors to Savannah
’
s fly open, revealing an army
of bouncers and two scrapping partygoers locked in an angry huddle. Through the
mishmash of swinging arms and vicious kicking legs, I can just about make out
Gary Glitter and Bill Clinton.

I grin. Mmm.
Figures. No prizes for guessing what
they
’
re
fighting about.
Obviously Bill didn
’
t want to be in
his
gang . . .

Agitated and
stony-faced, Will revs the engine, glances over his shoulder and swerves the
sexy motor into the empty road just as the fiery kafuffle spills onto the
pavement. Seemingly relieved to leave the mayhem behind, he grinds the
immaculate car into fifth, eyes dead ahead. I attempt to rub his swelling
knuckles but he jerks his hand away.

“
It
’
s fine, Sally. I’m fine. Just
leave it will you?
”

I obey. He
’
s so
masterful
. Even
dressed in a flapping, clanking skirt, he
’
s never
been
more in the trousers. As we speed down the deserted street, past Cow Island, I
can
’
t take my eyes off
him. I’m racing through the night with a dangerous stranger who
’
s rescued me
just
in the
nick of time from, well, Lord knows what.

Uurrggh. I shudder.
It doesn
’
t bear thinking
about. Strike that Superman comment too, considering. Troy
’
s stinking breath has totally
kryptonited my Dean Cain fetish.

Looking at Will,
fists clenched, eyes wide, chewing his bottom lip, I can
’
t help but wonder if I
’
m dreaming. Maybe I just
imagined the groping octopus hands, the table-shattering sword and, finally,
safety in the iron arms of my gladiator.

I
’
m probably still at
Savannah
’
s, fast asleep in
the igloo while Bi screws Sinbad in the alley, orgasmically oblivious.

I pinch myself to
check. Nope. I
’
m still here.
He
’
s
still here. Well,
well! This is
not
how I expected the evening to pan out. Bianca will
have an absolute field day when I tell her. Rowan, on the other hand, will have
a heart attack.

Pigtails waving in
the breeze, I squeeze Will
’
s bare knee,
giggling inwardly at the sight of his sandy Roman sandals pushing down on the
pedals. Judging by the stern face, though, he
’
s
clearly in no mood for an overgrown cheerleader taking the piss.

As he skims the
corner onto Oakham Close like Schumacher, I
’
m
lost in bewildered awe, attempting to familiarise myself with my fearless
husband as the silhouette of our house comes into view. Pushing the key fob to
open the garage door, Will shoots through the waiting gap at warp speed and
brings the Mustang to a screeching halt.

The musty, moonlit
garage is eerily silent. I can hear Will
’
s heart pounding
beneath his battledress as the heavy door thuds shut. Toying nervously with my
skirt pleats, I
’
m unable to read his
mood and afraid he
’
s about to explode.

“
Will?
”

“
What is it, Sally?
” he asks, deliberately not
looking at me.

“Are you okay? About earlier.”

“Fine,” he snaps, “Champion. I
love it when it rains golf balls.”

“
No, I mean are you mad at me?
”
I ask timidly,
“You know, with Troy. ’
Cause I
’
ll understand if you are, but
truly it wasn
’
t my fault, I didn
’
t do
anything
. . .”

Growling, he irately
rubs his forehead before shrugging back into the heated seat.

“
No, of course I
’
m not mad at
you
, Sally,
I
’
m mad at
him
.
He was practically raping you, what did you want me to do, shake his hand? I
’
m just
furious
I didn
’
t hit him harder.
Come here.”

Tugging me in for a hug, he
kisses the top of my head, locking me in a soothing embrace until I gently pull
away.
I
can see the burning frustration in his eyes. His dazzling copper chest plate is
giving his dark face a sexy, almost supernatural glow.

I inhale slowly,
bewitched.

Fighting a potent
mix of hero pheromones, Armani and my own rampant rescue fantasy, I softly kiss
his bruised knuckles. Slipping my cold hands beneath his polished armour, I
massage his biceps, willing him to calm. Stroking his neck, I count to a
hundred in my head, feeling the knots in his taut muscles ebb away at my touch.

“
Er, Will?
” I whisper tentatively, busy
fingers squeezing away.

“
Aaaghh. That feels gooood.
Aaaghh. What?
”

“
Why do we have a Mustang?
”

Unable to contain my curiosity,
I blurt it out, crossing my fingers as
he closes his eyes. Unclenching
his fists he lets out a deep, relaxed sigh.

“
We
don
’
t -
you
do,
”
he says grandly.
“
It
’
s all yours, Mustang Sally. I
was gonna wrap it but hey, you’ve seen it now - Happy New Year.
”

Squealing, I flick
on the dim garage light to get a better look at the guilty gift of the century.
Standing before me in all its gleaming blue glory is the gorgeous new Mustang I
’
ve always,
always
dreamed of, right from being a kid.

Ecstatic, I ignore
Bi
’
s finger-wagging
image at the back of my mind (
‘
play it cool, stay
mad, hold out for a house
’
) and drape my arms
around Will
’
s neck, peppering him
with sloppy, gift-blinded kisses he probably doesn
’
t deserve.

“
Oh thank you, thank you,
”
I gush.
“
Oooh, I
love
it! It
’
s perfect.
”
Then, remembering our
over-inflated overdraft, add hesitantly,
“
But we can
’
t afford it, surely? You
’
ve not maxed out the MasterCard,
have you? We can
’
t even afford to
mend the stairs.
”

Will
’
s eyes snap open and he smiles
proudly, like a triumphant hunter returning with supper.

“Nope.
No MasterCard. I’ve had my eye
on this little beauty since June. She was meant to be your Christmas box. Glad
you like her. I
’
ll fix the stairs
tomorrow, promise.
”

Touching my glowing
cheek, he adds hopefully,
“
Providing I can move
back in?
Please
. I don’t expect miracles, Sal,
really I don’t. I just need to be near you.”

Looking at Will, all
roughed up and Roman, a naughty thought crosses my mind.

Maybe our New Year’s
Eve is salvageable after all.

Tingling all over, I
flick off the garage light and saunter around the car, licking my finger and
tracing it across the gleaming paintwork. Watching Will watching me,
transfixed, I slide onto the bonnet, blue eyes locked on his, and seductively
slip off the straps of my leotard to reveal bra-less breasts, with freezing
nipples at perky attention.

“
The way you hit Troy, I
loved
it,
”
I whisper
alluringly, feeling like a ten-bob hooker but not giving a toss. Caressing my
boobs self-consciously, I give him a coy Marilyn Monroe pout as he watches
wide-eyed from the driver
’
s seat until it
’
s clear he can take no more.

Panting, Will leaps
out of the car, giving a low whistle as my figure-hugging dress floats to the
floor, leaving me naked except for my shimmering thong.

Thank God I
’
m not wearing PE
knickers, it just wouldn
’
t have the same
effect.

Masked by the
shadows, he lunges for me, snatching me into his arms. Licking his lips, he
caresses my shoulders before shoving me roughly back onto the bonnet.

This is a first. I
like it! More! Heroics and horn - what a cocktail!

“
Oh Sally, Jeeesus babe,
”
he whispers, hungry eyes all
over my body.
“
You
look
amazing
.
I wanna make love to you.
”

Throbbing bulge
bursting through the steel pleats of his tunic, he gently slips off my thong,
forcing himself between my legs as I murmur,
“
No,
Will.
”

“
No
?
What do you mean,
no
?”

“
I don
’
t want you to
make love
to me.
”

Taken aback, he
stares at me like I
’
m
the world’s worst prick tease.

“
Huh? You don
’
t? Well bloody hell, Sal, make
your mind up!
”

Of course I want it
really.
Obviously
. One look at my trembling lips and inviting body
language should tell him
that
. I
’
m just delighted to
have him chomping at the bit, that
’
s all. It
’
s giving me a feeling of power.
I want to prolong it. Forever.